


A kiss...

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: Kisses... [15]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: IgNoct, M/M, Sort of Light-Hearted, sort of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 23:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16335008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: ... because the world is saved.





	A kiss...

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.

Sunrise is a slow, creeping thing, a gradual lightening of the endless swathe of black sky as they pick their way back through the ruins of Insomnia.  They have time on their side now and there are no daemons left to account for, so they mark each step as they go, as whim and memory carry their feet on a path they don't know until they've reached its end point.  There, the empty shell of the grand library Ignis used as his safe harbour during his college years, countless millennia of knowledge devoured by the flames Niflheim had unleashed when they breached the city walls.  There, Noctis's first place of employment, neon sign still precariously clinging to the building, the decade-long scuttle of daemons across it plain in the cracks and scars strewn over its surface, a miracle it still stands to this day.  There, the park where Prompto first met Pryna, a ravaged husk of its former glory, skeletal hands in the branches still reaching towards the sky in silent plea to deaf Astrals for aid when death swept the city without mercy.  There, a pile of rubble serving as the only reminder of the night Gladio received his first scar in service to his prince.

All gone, little more than a dream when memories flicker and fade in the sands of time.  There's a heaviness in Ignis's heart to acknowledge it, to lay eyes on what was and never will be again, to see what used to be  _home_ and no longer recognise it, stall over its changes, scramble for  _anything_ familiar in the war-torn warp of it all.  Then there's a hand clasping his, fingers taking their place between his, palm aligning, and the throbbing ache settles as he glances to Noctis and finds the barest hint of a smile on his face, as Noctis rests his head on his shoulder and squeezes once in silent support.   _I know_ , the gesture says, loud and clear,  _I feel it too._

"Got a lot of work to look forward to, huh?  It's going to take a couple of years to get this place tidied up a bit, make it habitable again."

"A couple of years."

"Yeah."

"A  _couple_.  Try another decade."

"Iggy!  You  _wound_ me with your lack of faith!  Look at the miracle we've worked tonight, who's to say we can't manage another one?"

"Ah, but Noct, we're not -"

"Hey guys, look!"  Prompto cuts in and effectively ends their conversation as they both turn to where he waves at them, battered and weary but smiling so broadly it's a wonder his face doesn't split open from the strain of it, and he points, and there.  Fire in the sky where the sun has begun her battle with the horizon, tearing that untouchable canvas wide open, red and orange charging through the black, the purple and blue, reminding them all of what it is to be  _morning_ and -

\- it hurts his eyes, a dull ache behind them and an itch overtaking them until he has to shield them from the sight, lays a hand over them with a noise of protest and wonders if his eyesight has perhaps been permanently damaged after so long in the dark.

"My eyes!  They burn!  I'm fuckin' blind!"

 _Ah_ , he thinks,  _we have gone too long without the sun_.  Would he be able to look on the world under its rays without pain?  Would he look at  _Noctis_ in the light of day and get to see the sparkle in his eyes again?  Or is a decade's worth of darkness simply  _too much_ to overcome?  Have the daemons dispersed, only to take up residence in the hollow shells of the humans left behind?

"Here," Noctis says, arm cut off at the elbow as he rummages around in the Armiger, pulling back with a victorious  _"aha!"_ before Ignis can ask what he's up to, and proceeds to jam his old cap atop his head before he can utter a single protest or swat the offending hand away, jostling his visor in the process.  He dives back in a moment later and Ignis can't help but  _stare_ when he bows over and  _his head and shoulders_ vanish into that place other, a mist of phantom blue swirling where they should be but aren't.

His torso  _wiggles_ and when Prompto squeaks that it's the weirdest shit he's ever seen and Gladio agrees, Ignis himself is in full, queasy agreement, wincing at the clank and shriek of metal on metal that can only mean weapons are being carelessly swept around, the clink of glass jars, the jingling of loose change, a  _squeak_ (he doesn't even want to know), wondering if he should perhaps hoist Noctis up and away by his knees -

But no, there he is, coming up for air with a cheerful  _"these should help!"_ and throwing out the items held in his hands and Ignis does not, for one bloody second, trust that smug grin on his face even as he catches the item headed his way.

Glasses.  Shades, specifically.  Ridiculous, elongated, yellow-rimmed things surely meant for a party, spelling the word "moogle", the second "o" a tiny thing to brace over the bridge of one's nose in favour of the letters on either side forming the lenses.  Completely, utterly ridiculous, just as bad as the chocobo pair handed off to Prompto, stuck with a sombrero falling halfway down his forehead.

"What, pray tell, are these?"  He asks, because it's a sensible thing in the face of Noct's trip into insanity, because if he doesn't he fears he'll lose his composure and laugh himself sick at the bright yellow cap perched lopsided on Gladio's head, bright red bobble springing this way and that in the non-existent breeze.  Had he fallen in the fight for Insomnia and spilled his brains over concrete like lukewarm coffee?  Is he still under Ardyn's thrall?  Has he looked death in the face and taken a wrong turn to the afterlife?

"Protection!  At least until you get used to the sun again."

"And how come  _you're_ alright?"  Prompto demands even as he slides on the sunglasses and strikes a pose, wincing seconds later and lifting his hands to shade his face some more, seeking refuge in the shadow of Gladio's bulk.

"Because it's only been a couple of days without sunlight, for me," Noctis replies, easy and calm despite the shadows such a simple sentence conjures in his eyes, sauntering over to sling an arm over Ignis's shoulder and pressing a kiss to his cheek, all mischief and cheer despite  _everything_ , despite all he'd nearly lost.

He wonders how Noctis does it, how he can find more hidden reserves of strength and grit to  _cope_ , or at least plaster on a smile and  _pretend_ , if there's a lesson to be learned in there somewhere, if he even has the patience left to try and study it.

"What do you say we go find a bar and throw a party?  We just saved the world, gentlemen."

"I say you're  _nuts_."

"Yeah, well, sanity's overrated anyway, Gladio."


End file.
